


Dispossession

by Ancalimë (Cymbidia)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, Forgiveness, Gen, Missing Scene, Post-Rescue from Thangorodrim, Reconciliation, The High King of the Noldor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 15:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14023086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cymbidia/pseuds/Ancalim%C3%AB
Summary: Newly rescued from Thangorodrim, Maedhros begs for forgiveness from Fingolfin for that business with the ice, renounces his claim upon the title of High King, and reconciles the houses of Fëanor and Fingolfin.Written for Feanorian Week 2018 - Day one: Maedhros





	Dispossession

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Feanorian Week 2018. The prompt(s) I chose is Kingship/Unity  
> unbetaed

_"By this deed Fingon won great renown, and all the Noldor praised him; and the hatred between the houses of Fingolfin and Fëanor was assuaged. For Maedhros begged forgiveness for the desertion in Araman; and he waived his claim to kingship over all the Noldor, saying to Fingolfin: ‘If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.’ But to this his brothers did not all in their hearts agree._

_Therefore even as Mandos foretold the House of Fëanor were called the Dispossessed, because the overlordship passed from it, the elder, to the house of Fingolfin, both in Elendë and in Beleriand, and because also of the loss of the Silmarils _"_ \- Ch 14: Of The Return Of The Noldor, Quenta Silmarillion_

* * *

 

Fingolfin had many complicated feelings about Fëanor. His feelings about Maedhros were fewer but no less complicated.

“Uncle,” Maedhros said, his face gaunt and horribly vulnerable. “I would-” his breath caught, and he slumped against Fingon for a long and terrible moment, before he drew in a deep breath with rattling lungs, coughed, then continued, “I would speak with thee[1] of the crown of the High King of the Noldor.”

The room became even more horribly tense. Maedhros hadn’t exactly had time to assume Fëanor’s title before he was taken by Morgoth and strung up like a wind chime over Thangorodrim. But he was wearing a crown now, the one that Finwë had been wearing on the day he had been slain.

“What of it?” Fingolfin said, keeping his face neutral. He had a more cordial relationship with Maedhros than he did Fëanor, on account of Maedhros and Fingon’s love and friendship, but it seemed that was not enough to keep Maedhros from wading into the bottomless pools of political manoeuvring before he had even visited the healers. He was skeletally gaunt in a way that no elf should be, couldn’t he have had a bite to eat before he came limping in to Fingolfin’s quarters?

“I would-” Maedhros broke off again, and Fingon had to rub his back to help him catch his breath. “I am Fëanáro’s heir, and in both law and custom Finwë’s crown are mine by right of primogeniture. And yet-”

Maedhros hunched over, half-collapsed against Fingon. He wheezed, and his body twitched and spasmed as if in great pain. He moaned weakly, and his eyes rolled back in his head. His hair, dirty and matted from his long years of torment, was plastered to his brow by sweat. Fingolfin approached him, heart overflowing with pity, and together he and Fingon sat Maedhros upon a chair.

Fingon’s face was tired and pinched. He had come away unscathed from his foolhardy venture. Both he and Fingolfin were glad that he had gone, and gladder still that he had succeeded, but now that he returned triumphant, the strife between Fëanor and Fingolfin’s houses weighed upon Fingon. It was that which had sundered Fingon from Maedhros more surely than the Sundering Sea or the Grinding Ice, and even now it stood between them.

Maedhros groaned and whimpered, but soon got a hold of himself again. He looked up at Fingolfin. “Thou hadst lead the Noldor, both traitor and the betrayed. Thou didst not abandon Fëanáro as he abandoned thee. Thou art nobler than I, Kinslayer and Traitor and Thrall of the Enemy. For foul though the deed of our kinslaying upon Alqualondë was, more faithless was the abandonment of you our closest kin upon those bloodied shores.” Maedhros was trembling with effort now, his bright eyes feverish as the words tumbled out of him all at once. There was love shining in his eyes, and unshed tears. He clutched Fingon’s arm and pulled himself up with difficulty.

“Nay, not merely faithless,” he continued. “‘Twas a great evil, as great as the blood shed. And therefore, lord and uncle, I have come to beg thee for forgiveness, and to say this to thee, that never more true was any of the Eldar, for thou followed a road of death and greed for only the love of thy kin, and true thou remained, when he who thou followed lost his way.” Maedhros’ face was bright and shining now, and his eyes blazed with light. In that moment he reminded Fingolfin so much of the Fëanor before their strife that Fingolfin's heart began to ache. Maedhros was fire, uncorrupted. Fingolfin laid a hand on Maedhros’ shoulder. Maedhros faltered, looking at him, then, dropping to his knees in a motion that seemed more like a controlled fall than a planned descent, Maedhros cast himself at Fingolfin’s feet.

Maedhros looked up at Fingolfin, then took his hand and kissed it. “I cast myself upon thy mercy, o lord of the house of Finwë, highest of all we Eldar upon this hither shore,” Maedhros said. He kissed Fingolfin’s ring. “Wrong have I done thee, and wrong the house of Fëanáro hath done unto the house of Arakáno[2], yet over the Helcaraxë thou camest, and thy son Findekáno the Valiant, he whose light flowers in my heart as Laurelin untarnished, hath freed me of torment and bondage. O, lord, such wrong have I done thee, and I submit myself now to what so ever judgement thou shalt deem fit.”

Fingolfin looked down upon Maedhros, and was silent for a moment. Pity moved him, and sympathy. Maedhros looked so glad to have spoken his piece. Fingolfin had no doubt that Fëanor would have been furious if he ever heard Maedhros’ words, and it surprised Fingolfin that Maedhros had spoken so. At the same time, Fingolfin felt a pang of sorrow for Maedhros, who had been forced to grow beyond blindly following his father in all things. The bright and smiling prince of the Noldor was no more, and in his place was their king, gaunt and broken but no less exalted. To have looked beyond the pride that had first sundered the House Of Finwë! Perhaps there was hope for the Noldor after all.

“There is naught to forgive, Russandol,” Fingolfin said, “for I forgave Fëanor even as I stood before his empty tomb.” Fingolfin bent and raised Maedhros to his feet. “Kneel not to me, my brother’s son. Thou art returned from beyond hope, and the rift between our two houses is now healed.”

“Then, my uncle, nay, my lord, I would say this to you,” Maedhros said, trembling, tremulous. He reached up for the crown upon his head with a hand that shook violently. “If- if there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.” He struggled to grasp the crown on his head with his strengthless fingers.

“Finno,” Maedhros entreated, and Fingon caved like wet paper before his distress. Avoiding Fingolfin’s eyes, Fingon carefully guided Maedhros’ remaining hand to the crown, and helped him grasp it and remove it from his head.

Fingolfin did not stop him. It was not within his nature to actively take the title of kingship from his wounded and traumatised nephew, not even a day after he escaped the enemy and had his hand cleaved from his body. But even in the golden dawn of Valinor before the Enemy’s release did Fingolfin and Fëanor strive for the position of their father’s chief heir, and after Finwë’s murder much of the tragedy of the Noldor came from the brothers’ strife for Finwë’s crown. And besides, how would Maedhros rule, as paper thin and soul-wounded as he was? He was born in the light of the Trees, and his hroa was therefore among the most resilient of their race, but not even the light of the trees reflected in his eyes could heal the wounds of his soul, or at least not swiftly enough if he wished to be an effective high king.

“I-I renounce my claim upon this crown, from now unto the breaking of the world. I renounce the claim of my heirs upon this crown, from now unto the breaking of the world. I renounce the claim of my house upon the crown, from now unto the breaking of the world. I do so freely and uncoerced, and with full willingness of my heart.” Maedhros was shaking like a leaf. His skin, tanned from three decades of sun and wind and streaked with dirt and mud, had paled to a grey-green. A slight breeze would probably knock him over.

“T-take it,” Maedhros gasped. “You must be king now. For the sake of all our house. I am no king.” Sweat dripped down his temples, and tears were flowing down his face. “I have been brought low by the Enemy, and the house of Fëanor has been doomed to ruin by our oath. It is yours now, this crown. For thine and thy heirs, uncle.”

“Very well,” Fingolfin said. “Take it I shall. I thank thee, Nelyafinwë, for that which you have given up for the sake of our people. Even as you are no longer my king, you shall always be my kinsman. I shall protect you and yours, and to the best of my ability I shall not hinder your quest and the fulfillment of your oath.”

Maedhros pressed the crown weakly into Fingolfin’s hands. He gave an aborted sob of relief, and fainted against Fingon’s shoulder.

Fingolfin looked down at the crown and sighed. He put it aside on his desk and helped Fingon carry Maedhros back to Fingon’s quarters. Maedhros was more than light enough for Fingon to carry alone, but he was uneasy even in unconsciousness, twitching and flailing and whimpering, and two sets of hands were needed lest Fingon drop his precious charge.

Fingolfin helped Fingon lay Maedhros across the bed, and hummed a lullaby Finwë used to sing him when he had been a small elfling. Fingon bathed Maedhros’ face and hands, and softly combed the tangles out of Maedhros’ hair. That was when Fingolfin slipped away.

As he was closing the door behind him, he heard Maedhros say softly to Fingon, “I am free.”

Fingolfin stilled.

“Yes, my Nelyo,” Fingon said tenderly. “Morgoth shall trouble you no more.”

“For now,” Maedhros said wryly, then wheezed as his lungs threatened to fail on him again.

“We shall bring down his fortress one day,” Fingon promised fiercely. “And he shall be uncrowned.”

“I am free of Morgoth’s chains and I am free of Finwë’s crown. One day I shall also be free of Fëanor’s Oath.” Maedhros did not sound very hopeful, but he sounded very determined.

“Thangorodrim will crumble, and Angband will break,” Fingon said in a low voice. Fingon's words had the ring of prophecy to them, but the words that Maedhros had spoken were just words. Fingolfin swallowed down his fear for his nephew.

The two of them could hear it too. Maedhros made an indistinct noise of anguish, and the two of them spoke no more as Fingon held Maedhros and made comforting noises and kissed him soothingly.

Fingolfin remembered himself, and hurried away silently. He had been acting as the leader of the Noldor ever since he had arrived upon Endorë, of course, but with the title of High King even more responsibility would end up in his lap, and he could see many sleepless nights ahead of him. There were messes to clean up and endless reports to read, and despite all the great works and the grand ideals of the Noldor, there was the revised tax code that was almost perfected. The other sons of Fëanor would doubtlessly be unhappy with what Maedhros had done, but Fingolfin couldn't see any of _them_ rewriting the whole Noldorin tax code from scratch to better suit the conditions of Middle-Earth. And he didn't want to think about what Maglor or Curufin or the twins would do to the finances should they become king. Nothing good, he'd wager. Nothing good at all.

**Author's Note:**

> 1I've used the "thou" pronouns in their original sense as a more informal second person pronoun, making the "you" pronouns later on an indication of formality. I did this because I am an idiot and Maedhros is talking to his future father-in-law.  
> 2Maedhros uses the mother-names for Feanor and Fingolfin because the strife began with Finwe's remarriage, and also because neither of them have a "-finwë" in their mother names, which is probably a good thing considering how HRM Finwëñolofinwë suffixed a second finwë to his name because of he and Fëanor's feud and thereby made Finwë's name a Whole Big Thing. I think he's the first person in Arda to strengthen his own legitimacy in his claim to power by claiming the name of a previous ruler. Also Maedhros can't call his future father-in-law Finwëñolofinwë without wanting to giggle. People often question what the fuck kind of a name is Fingolfin, but, seriously, what the fuck kind of a name is Finwëñolofinwë??? Sorry don't kill me I love Fingolfin I promise.
> 
> Also, the reason why Mae’s having so much difficulty breathing is that basically the hot air currents in a volcano is enough to cook your lungs if you breathe it in. Maybe the precipice he was dangling from wasn’t over the mouth but down the mountainside and Mae didn’t breathe in any searing hot air, but even then the normally hot air around a volcano is still full of all kinds of chemicals and also dust and ash. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ poor boy.   
>  
> 
> Yell at me for my abuse of archaic verbs with the "thou" pronoun all you want, I'm open to constructive criticism, and probably will edit them to be less Terribly Incorrect later. Right now I'm just amazed I type this out in once sitting basically while holding my breath the whole time. It tumbled out so quickly I'm kind of dazed still.
> 
> Come yell about Silm Feels at [my Tumblr](http://buckybatnes.tumblr.com)


End file.
